Something Wicked
by Lixnchains
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester have a history...a long, complicated history. Can they overcome the obstacles that the world has placed in their paths? Can they love each other in the face of it all? It's not an easy road, and it's not a pretty one, but where will it lead them? Warnings: Wincest (Sam/Dean), BDSM and dark sex (in future parts), pre-series (part one and flashbacks)
1. Chapter 1

**-A-**

When Sammy was fifteen years old, he had walked in on Dean with another boy.

Tommy was the son of Mr. Duvalle, the owner of a local garage where Dean had been part-timing for a few weeks, and on that particular day, Sam had opened the door to their motel room to find Tommy on top of his brother in one of the double beds.

"Jesus, Sammy!" Dean had shouted, leaping from the mattress and dragging the sheet with him. "I...you...I didn't think you would be here until four!"

Sam had stared, speechless, for several long seconds before averting his gaze and mumbling, "I was hungry."

"Tell the little brat to scram," Tommy had drawled with a lazy smirk. "We're not done, here."

Dean had shoved him angrily off the side of the bed.

"Don't you dare talk about him like that!" he had hissed, picking up a crumpled pair of jeans from the floor and throwing them unceremoniously at the other boy's chest. "Get the fuck out! I don't want to see you around here again."

Tommy had flushed a bright shade of red before shoving his pants on and elbowing past Sammy, who was still standing, dumbfounded, in the open door.

"This was a one-time deal, _Winchester_," Tommy had called over his shoulder, spitting out the last word in contempt. "Don't try to come 'round the shop asking for a redo, faggot."

"Yeah? What do you call yourself, then?" Dean had shouted after him, although Sam could see the look of shame that spread across his brother's features for the briefest of moments.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean had muttered, pulling Sam into the room by his arm and slamming the door behind him. "I'm...I'm sorry you had to see that."

Sam had shifted his weight nervously for a few seconds before lying, "It's fine, Dean. I don't care. I don't care about that."

"You must be feeling _something_, Sammy," Dean had said, his voice almost a whisper, but Sam had just shrugged, ignoring the painful knot that had reared its angry head somewhere in his gut.

"Yeah," he said, forcing a little smile and turning toward the pile of vending machine food they had stashed beside the TV, "hunger."

**-B-**

They never stayed anywhere for long, though, and Sam had felt a rush of relief when Dad had announced their departure.

"There's a job up in Colorado, boys," he had announced gruffly one morning. "Pack your stuff. We're leaving in an hour."

They had obeyed mutely, as they always did, but Sam had been uncomfortably aware of the fact that Dean was glancing at him every couple of minutes, as though waiting to see if his younger brother would suddenly snap and confess everything to their father before running for the hills.

The first chance he'd gotten, Sam had shoved Dean, narrowing his eyes a little in the dim light of the room.

"Stop it," he had hissed under his breath. "Dad's not blind, you know. He's going to figure out that something's going on if you keep looking me like I'm a fucking time-bomb. Just...chill out, okay?"

Dean had raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"I don't think I've ever heard you swear before, Sammy," he had said, smirking a little despite himself.

"Yeah, well, I'm not a kid anymore, Dean," Sam had huffed, grabbing his backpack. "And it's _Sam._"

A glint of amusement had flashed through Dean's eyes as he followed his younger brother toward the door.

"Yeah, okay, Sammy."

**-C-**

When Sam was eighteen years old, he had kissed his older brother. For the second time.

Dad had been gone for a few days on a hunt, and they were sitting on the edge of yet another motel-room bed when Dean had flopped down onto his back, stretching luxuriously.

"So, you're taking that Marissa chick to the dance, huh?" he had asked, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "I guess you're a real Casanova, now."

Sam had rolled his eyes, turning to face Dean.

"_If _we're even still here in April, yes, I'm taking her to the dance," he had said, snapping his textbook shut. "As a _friend._"

Dean had scoffed.

"Riiight," he had teased, kicking Sam's leg playfully with the toe of his boot. "As a 'friend.' You know, you don't have to put on that act for me, Sammy. I'm not Dad. I don't care if you're fucking her. Or if you want to, or, you know, whatever."

Sam had glared down at Dean in frustration, feeling what had become a very familiar pang in his stomach.

"I'm not. And I don't," he had said succinctly, pursing his lips. "You're always asking me about girls, Dean. It's annoying. I don't...I'm not...interested in that."

Dean had sighed dramatically, turning onto his side.

"Jeez, Sammy, no need to get your panties in a knot. I was just curious."

"Well, what about you?" Sam had asked, flipping the focus. "Who are you fucking these days, Dean?"

Dean had shifted a little nervously, suddenly very intent on scrubbing an invisible piece of dirt off of the comforter.

"No one," he had muttered, plastering a small smile onto his face that didn't reach his eyes. "We move around too much, you know how it is. I just...I'm busy. And I can't stand the people in this godforsaken town. A bunch of amped-up rednecks...good for nothing jackasses, all of 'em..."

He trailed off, and Sam couldn't help but smile.

"Dean," he had said, lying down next to his brother on the bed, "can I...bring up something uncomfortable?"

Dean had crinkled his forehead, still pretending to be occupied with the blanket.

"Uh, sure, Sammy," he had said with a wary expression, "but I don't wanna hear any of the gory details about your sex life. Got it?"

Sam had laughed.

"Oh, really?" he teased. "You could have fooled me, Dean," and Dean had huffed in annoyance, giving his brother a little shove.

"Yeah, yeah, wise guy," he had said. "Get on with it, then."

Sam had paused, suddenly flooded with doubt. He had understood their unspoken agreement never to mention the little "incident" that had happened about seven months ago when Dean was drunk, but, frankly, he had grown tired of blatantly ignoring the elephant in the room every time he was alone with Dean.

He had figured this was as good a time as any. Dad wasn't in the next room. Dean was in a fairly good mood. And he was...well..._he_ was dealing with a monster-sized case of confusion that wasn't getting any easier as time went on.

He had cleared his throat awkwardly and flipped onto his side to face his brother.

"So...Dean," he began, stopping as soon as he had started and immediately hating himself for not planning out an exact approach.

"That's my name," Dean had replied with a smirk that made Sam's toes curl. "Don't wear it out."

"Very funny," Sam had muttered, his voice close to a whisper and his heart thudding as he suddenly wondered if maybe this hadn't been a good idea after all...

He could still get out of it. He could...make something up. He could put this away once and for all and never drag it out again. That's what he would do. He would-

"Earth to Sammy," Dean had called, interrupting Sam's rapidly spiraling train of thought, and then, in a softer tone, "Don't panic, okay? I can see you panicking, and there's no need for that. You're completely transparent, you know that, Sammy? I know what you're going to say, and I'm not going to freak out, so just...say it."

Sam's breath had caught painfully in his throat at Dean's words, and he looked up at his brother questioningly, doing exactly what he had been told not to...panicking. "Y-you...you know what...I-I...well I just, I...you-"

Dean held up a hand.

"Alright, baby brother. Just stop talking before you hurt yourself. You want to know why I kissed you? Back in Pennsylvania. Am I right?"

Sam had choked a little, completely taken aback by Dean's bluntness and apparent composure. And by the fact that he had been addressed as "baby brother," something he did NOT approve of, especially given the current topic of conversation.

"I..." he had started, but his tongue had felt swollen for some reason, so he had just nodded mutely, clutching his hands together in his lap.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean had replied, his voice almost professionally calm but his eyes shrouded in something that looked like sadness. "This talk should have happened a long time ago, and that's on me." He had paused for a moment, throwing a sideways glance at Sam before continuing. "I was drunk. I was really REALLY drunk. I didn't know what I was doing. I mean, god, for all I knew, you were the fucking sexy guy from the Old Spice commercial. Seriously. And...I'm sorry, okay? The last thing I ever wanted to do was traumatize you. You're my kid brother. Fuck. I'm supposed to take care of you."

He had trailed off then, and Sammy had finally found his voice.

"Stop _calling _me that!" he had said, his voice almost a whine, and, god, of all the fucking things he could have, SHOULD HAVE, said. What the hell was wrong with him?

He had cleared his throat while Dean watched him, eyebrows raised and mouth open.

"I _mean_," he continued, giving dignity another shot, "that I don't want to be your kid brother, okay? Not _just _your kid brother, Dean. And I wasn't fucking traumatized. I...I can't stop thinking about it, but not because...not because I'm traumatized."

Dean had a look on his face that somehow conveyed both incredulity and fear simultaneously, and Sammy had to shake off the shiver he felt as a result of it.

"We might as well get it all out the table, Dean," he had continued, pulling some kind of resolve out of his psyche that he didn't even know he had. "I know that you...keep a picture of me in your bedside drawer...inside one of your magazines, and that you look at it when you-"

"Shit, Sam," Dean had muttered darkly, interrupting him and pulling himself into a sitting position. "Shut up, okay? Just shut up."

Sam had pushed aside the sting he felt at those words and had grabbed Dean's arm almost angrily.

"No, Dean!" he had growled, feeling every repressed emotion bubble up to the surface like lava. "No. Not this time. We are not putting this off for another seven months while you pretend to be interested in things like me going to a dance with fucking Marissa! No. I'm sorry, but no. I can't take that."

Not wanting Dean to have a chance to logic him out of it, Sam had lunged forward, pressing his lips against his brother's.

It was a quick, chaste kiss, and after only a brief moment, Sam had felt Dean's hands on his chest, pushing him away.

"Jesus," Dean had said, wiping his sleeve across his mouth, "We can't do that. I...I can't let you do that, Sammy. You don't understand, okay? You don't know what you want."

Sam had groaned in frustration, pulling his knees up to his chest and rocking back and forth.

"Don't give me that," he had hissed, infuriated by the tears that were threatening to spill down his cheeks. "That's bullshit, and you know it."

Dean had sighed sadly and stood from the bed, turning away and hunching his shoulders miserably.

"Sam, I can't drag you into this," he had whispered, holding on to the wall for support. "Can't you get that? You deserve to have a normal life. _Normal. _I mean, as normal as it gets for people like us."

"So, what?" Sam had asked, feeling as though his stomach had plummeted to the floor and been trampled on several times. "That's it, then? You're just going to pretend that this...thing...doesn't exist between us? Is that it?"

Dean had slowly nodded his head without turning around.

"It's for the best, Sammy," he had muttered. "Just trust me on this."

Without thinking, Sam had punched the wall angrily, leaving a fist-sized hole and cuts on his knuckles that he barely felt. Dean had spun around in surprise, still rooted to the spot but with desperate concern written all over his face.

There had been a shocked moment of silence between them before Sam had folded his arms defensively, staring his brother down.

"I got accepted into Stanford, you know," he had said, reveling a little in the shocked expression on Dean's face. "I'm going. I don't care what Dad says. I'm not staying with you two, that's for damn sure."

Dean hadn't said anything.

"Well?" Sam had pushed, "does that even bother you a _little, _Dean? You're never going to see me."

Dean had sighed again but continued not to acknowledge the news that Sam had shared with him. He had taken a few shaky steps toward the sink, aimlessly grabbing a box of pasta from the counter and gripping it tightly.

"Are you...are you hungry, Sammy?" He had asked, his back still turned. "Let me make you something to eat. Just let me...make you something to eat."

Sam had felt a twinge of sadness mix with his residual anger, but he had pushed it down, watching his brother's fingers fumble with the cardboard on top of the box.

"No, Dean," he had said, turning to grab his bag off the bed and slinging it over his shoulder. "No, I'm not fucking hungry."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Cherry's notes: This is 93% just me transcribing season one, episode one (with that Wincesty twist, of course, although it's barely needed lol), but I needed to get the boys where I want them to be (with each other, of course). Smut and the fun stuff is coming! Stay tuned! **_

Sam's eyes snapped open at the small crash from the other room, and he slowly pulled himself out of bed, not wanting to wake Jess. She hadn't been sleeping well lately, and the noise had probably been nothing, but eighteen years of previous training told him that he'd better check it out just in case.

Creeping down the hallway, he peered through the beaded curtain that led into the kitchen and was shocked to see the silhouette of a man saunter by in the direction of the fridge.

Mentally cursing himself for not having had the foresight to grab something that could be used as a weapon, he slipped into the room and made the snap decision to lunge at the intruder, hoping to catch him off guard. Weapon or no weapon, he knew his way around hand-to-hand combat, and the element of surprise was everything.

But this guy must have been on the receiving end of his fair share of ambushes, because he spun around to face Sam in an offensive stance about a half second before their bodies collided in the dark. Sam growled, giving the stranger a hard punch followed by a knee to the gut, but the other man only stumbled for a fraction of a moment before somehow kicking Sam's legs out from under him, causing him to crash ungracefully down onto the ground.

"Whoa. Easy, tiger," the man said, his voice dripping with amusement as he straddled Sam's lap, and Sam stared up into the shadows, his eyes beginning to adjust. He'd know that voice anywhere. And sure enough-

"Dean?" he cried, his voice a notch higher than usual. "What-...you scared the crap out of me!"

Dean gave a low chuckle and tightened his thighs a bit.

"That's because you're out of practice," Dean responded, but before the last word was even out of his mouth, Sam reached up and grabbed his brother's neck, toppling them both until he was the one on top.

"Or not," Dean gasped, laughing again. "Get off of me."

Still reeling with the confusion of it all, Sam pulled himself to his feet, Dean quickly following suit. Sam couldn't quite...process the information that his brother was here. Actually here. After _four years_. Standing in front of him like they had seen each other yesterday.

His stomach began to knot painfully, and he took a few steps back.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing here?" he blurted out, his breath hitching a little, but Dean just gave him one of those lazy smiles and raised his hands to Sam's shoulders.

"Well, I _was _looking for a beer," he murmured and then swayed in slightly, as though deciding whether or not to give his brother a hug.

Before he could make up his mind, however, there was a small click, and the room was flooded with light.

Sam jumped a little and spun around, his eyes falling on Jess, who stood in the doorway looking back and forth between him and Dean with obvious confusion.

"Sam?" she said, her voice uncertain, and for some reason, Sam felt suddenly uncomfortable, like the three of them shouldn't be in the same room together.

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Jess, ah...hey," he stammered, switching gears half-way through and turning to address his brother instead. "Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica."

_Why was that so hard for him to say...like the words were sticking to the roof of his mouth._

"Wait, your brother Dean?" Jessica asked before Dean could say anything, and Sam's mouth went dry. She didn't know anything. Of course she didn't, but his heart was still beating furiously in his chest, and he suddenly couldn't remember how to speak.

Dean shot him a little warning glare before moving in to diffuse the moment.

"I love the smurfs," he said with a charming smile, gesturing toward Jessica's t-shirt. "And, hey, I've gotta tell you. You are _way_ out of my brother's league."

He had moved right into Jess's personal space, and Sam felt that unpleasant twinge begin to swell inside him again.

_"Get a grip, man," _he chided himself. _"Pull it together. This is only going to be weird if you make it weird."_

Jessica was regarding Dean a little nervously.

"Just...let me put something on," she said, although Sam could see the little flush that had risen in her cheeks.

"No, no! I wouldn't dream of it," Dean purred with a wink that made Sam's stomach curl. "Seriously. Anyway, I've gotta borrow your boyfriend, here, to talk about some private family business, but, ah, it was nice meeting you."

Jess pursed her lips together as Dean headed back over toward Sam, and Sam's chest tightened at his brother's words. Private family business. That wasn't good. It had disaster written all over it, and there was no way that he was going to allow himself to be dragged into another one of the Winchester family dramas after he had spent four years trying to get away from all of that.

"No," he said sharply, walking across the room to stand near Jessica. "No. Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of her."

He knew that Dean wouldn't.

However, with a small, non-committal shrug, Dean crossed his arms and caught Sam's gaze, raising his eyebrows ever-so-slightly.

"Okay, fine," he said, the casual humor from mere moments ago fading quickly from his expression. "Um. Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam didn't falter.

"Okay, so he's working overtime on a miller-time shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later."

Dean exhaled in frustration.

"Dad's on a _hunting_ trip," he said, annunciating each word. "And he hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam sighed, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

"Jess, excuse us," he said apologetically, glancing at her for only a moment before grabbing Dean by the shoulder and herding him out into the hallway.

"What are you doing?" he hissed as soon as they were out of earshot. "What is this, Dean? You can't just...you can't just...I haven't seen or heard from you in four years. Four goddamned years, Dean. I thought that-"

"Calm down, Sammy," Dean interrupted, holding up his hand. "Just...look. I'm sorry. I'm sorry to come here like this, okay? I need your help, man. I didn't know what else to do."

He was looking almost devastated, now, and Sam realized with a sharp pang that his brother's calm and bravado had all been an act. He should have seen right through it, but it had just...it had been _so long. _

"Hey," he said, his voice softer, "I...I didn't mean for it to sound like that. I'm happy to see you. God, of course I am. I just...it caught me off guard. And you can't just break in here in the middle of the night and expect me to hit the road with you. That's what you're asking, isn't it?"

Dean looked up at him in the dim light of the stairwell.

"You're not hearing me, Sammy," he said quietly, his voice hitching a little. "Dad's missing. I need...I need you to help me find him."

Sam sighed, biting back an old, familiar urge to say, _"It's Sam."_

"You remember the poltergeist in Amherst?" he said instead. "Or the devil's gates in Clifton? He was missing then, too. He's always missing. And he's always fine."

"Not for this long," Dean said, glancing behind him to make sure that they were still alone. "Now, are you going to come with me or not?"

Sam took a step back, breaking eye-contact.

"I'm...I'm not," he almost whispered, and Dean made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

"Why not?" he demanded, crossing his arms defiantly, and Sam almost laughed in exasperation.

"I swore that I was done with all of that," he said, meeting his brother's gaze again. "Don't tell me that you don't remember how things were, Dean, especially those last few months. You...I'm not going through that again. I can't."

"Come on. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't _that_ bad," Dean mumbled, smoothing a hand through his hair. "Hunting is who we are. It's-"

"Oh, no you don't," Sam said, cutting him off. "You _know _that that's not all I'm talking about. The hunting was bad enough, but that's not why I left, Dean. I...I don't think that we should-"

He trailed off, no longer sure of what to say.

"So what, then?" Dean said, his voice laced with something that might be anger. Or regret. "What are you gonna do? Are you just gonna live some normal, apple-pie life? Is that it?"

Sam grimaced at his brother's tone.

"I thought that was what you wanted me to do."

Dean exhaled loudly, turning his body so that he was only half-facing Sam.

"I did. I mean...I...I don't know. I didn't want you to run away, Sam."

Feeling eighteen again, Sam had to mentally restrain himself from reaching out to touch his older brother, to comfort him, to...hold him. God, he wanted to hold him.

"I can't do this alone, Sammy," Dean continued, and Sam bit his lip.

"Yes, you can," he whispered.

Dean turned back to face him, all rough hope and sadness and something darker.

"Yeah, well, I don't want to," he mumbled, and Sam smiled a little despite himself.

_"God, I'm going to regret this,"_ he thought worriedly, but it was no use. He knew that he was going to go with Dean. Of course he was. Thinking about it now, it was almost comical that he had deluded himself, however briefly, into thinking that he wouldn't.

Heaving a mock sigh, and mentally planning out the excuse he would give Jessica, he put his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Alright. What was he hunting?"


	3. Chapter 3

**-A-**

"So, Jess seems…pretty," Dean said, peering over at Sam from the driver's seat through dark sunglasses. "I guess you've done okay for yourself, little brother."

Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably, glancing back at Dean and deciding to ignore the blatant backhanded compliment.

"Yeah," he responded with a forced smile. "She is. We're happy together, Dean."

"Mmm," Dean murmured noncommittally, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. "Well, good. I'm glad you have someone who you can really be yourself with."

The poorly-concealed resentment in his voice wasn't lost on Sam, and he sighed, staring down at his lap.

"Come on, man," he finally said, looking up again. "Are you going to do this all weekend? Because I don't want to be here with you if you are. Jess is my girlfriend, and I'm not going to listen to you insult her for three days, alright?"

Dean chuckled, much to Sam's annoyance, and tugged his sunglasses down a little to roll his eyes at Sam over the rim.

"Jeez, Sammy. You've gotten sensitive in your old age."

It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes.

"Alright, alright," he said, throwing his hands up. "Let's just drop it, okay? You said you were looking for a rest stop, right? Take this next exit."

"Mmhm, I got it," Dean replied, pulling over into the next lane. "I'm starving."

**-B-**

"Hey, you want breakfast?" Dean called, coming around the back of the car with a bag of chips and a soda in his hands and a tube of mints between his teeth.

"No, thanks," Sam said, casting Dean a disparaging look. "So, how'd you pay for that stuff? You and Dad still running credit card scams?"

"Yeah, well, hunting ain't exactly a pro-ball career," Dean said, reaching over to put the gas pump back in its holder. "Besides, all we do is apply. It's not our fault they send us the cards."

"Yeah? And what name did you write on the application this time?" Sam asked, swinging his legs back into the car as Dean pulled open his door.

"Ahh, Bert Aframian and his son, Hector," Dean said with a cocky grin, climbing into his seat and throwing his snacks down between them. "Scored two cards out of the deal."

Sam shook his head a little, smiling despite himself.

"Sounds about right," he said, glancing over at his brother. "I swear, man, you've _got _to update your cassette tape collection."

Dean stared at the box of cassette tapes in Sam's lap, shrugging.

"Why?" he asked, looking amused.

"Well, for one, they're _cassette tapes,_" Sam said, rifling through the box and grabbing a couple. "And two…Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica? It's the greatest hits of mullet rock."

Dean snatched one of the tapes from Sam's hand, raising an eyebrow.

"House rules, Sammy," he said, popping it into the player. "Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts his cakehole."

Sam sighed.

"Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old," he said, knowing even as he was saying it that it was still going to be a mute point. "It's _Sam, _okay?"

The tape started to play, and Dean just cranked the volume, gesturing toward his ear.

"Sorry, I can't hear you. The music's too loud," he called, tossing Sam one of those mind-melting looks of his that had always caused Sam's blood to feel too thick in his veins.

This time was no different, and Sam felt his stomach flutter alarmingly, matching the rev of the engine as the impala peeled out of the parking lot and toward the open road.

**-C-**

"Dude, tell me we're almost there," Sam groaned, moping in Dean's direction as Metallica blared from the speakers. "I can't take much more of this."

Dean grinned, hammering the steering wheel to the beat of the song.

"Oh, come on. You love it," he said over the music, craning his neck to read a mileage sign beside the road. "We're only an hour out. You can make it."

Sam let himself fall back against his seat with a huff, crossing his arms against his chest and pushing his lips together in distaste.

"You say that, but I'm not so sure," he said grumpily, trying his best to stretch his legs out in the cramped passenger seat.

He glanced over to see Dean watching him with a little smirk.

"What?" he snapped, and Dean continued to stare for a moment before reaching over to press his thumb against Sam's lips for a split second before casually grabbing the wheel again as if he hadn't just done something bizarre.

"You've always looked so pretty when you pout, Sammy," he murmured in a voice that sounded like honey, and Sam choked on a breath, frowning even as his pulse quickened.

_What the hell was Dean playing at?_

"Yeah, okay," he said lamely, trying to look as annoyed as he knew he should feel. "Whatever you say, Dean. Just…turn it down, okay?"

"Mmhm," Dean agreed, his fingers finding the volume knob and cranking it up a notch. "Anything for you, baby boy."

Sam shoved Dean's shoulder lightly, not enough to cause him to swerve, but he didn't say anything. His higher brain functioning had temporarily shut down.

Whatever was happening between them, Dean was clearly winning, and Sam made a silent vow not to let himself react to Dean's little quips and looks and…whatever else…from that moment on.

"_Easier said than done, though," _he thought to himself with a sinking sensation in his chest.

God. It was going to be a long three days.

**-D-**

_Female murder hitchhiking_

Dean's face was scrunched in concentration as he leaned over the computer at the small, dimly-lit library in Jericho.

_0 results found_

Dean bit his lower lip and thought for a moment before typing again.

_Female murder Centennial Highway_

_0 results found_

"I got it," Sam said, reaching for the keyboard, but Dean slapped his hand away, causing Sam's jaw to drop a little in resentment.

He was _not _going to spend this weekend playing the role of his big brother's doormat. He wasn't an eighteen-year-old kid anymore, and while he might be a bit out of practice when it came to hunting, in the world of research, he ruled over Dean.

Taking advantage of his size and strength, Sam shoved Dean's chair out of the way and scooted haughtily in front of the screen.

"Dude," Dean said with a sideways glance, shoving Sam's massive shoulder to no avail. "You're such a control freak."

Sam sighed, deciding not to dignify that statement with a response.

"So, angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?" he said instead, and Dean crowded in close, looking at the computer.

Sam continued.

"So, maybe it's not murder," he said half to himself, erasing the word "murder" from the search and typing in "suicide" instead.

An article popped up titled, "Suicide on Centennial," and Dean raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.

"This was in 1981," Sam said, skimming the words on the page. "Constance Welch, twenty four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river."

Dean squinted at the small type.

"Does it say why she did it?"

"Yeah," Sam said, his voice quiet. "An hour before she did it, she called 911. Her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren't breathing. Both die."

Dean's expression was grim.

"'Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bare it,' said husband, Joseph Welch," Sam read on, and then paused for a moment before saying, "That bridge look familiar to you?"

It was where they had impersonated Federal Marshals earlier in the day to squeeze information from the local police.

Dean pressed his lips together and exchanged a meaningful glance with Sam that clearly meant, "Next stop: Sylvania Bridge," and Sam nodded in agreement, rising from his chair.

**-E- **

The road was deserted as they drove back toward Sylvania Bridge, and neither brother had said a word to each other since they had climbed into the car.

"Hey," Dean finally said, breaking the silence, "So, I guess you learned something useful in college, after all, huh? You gonna be the brain to my brawn, now?"

Sam smiled half-heartedly.

He had been deep in thought before Dean had broken him out of his reverie.

"I was always the brain to your brawn," he said, looking over at Dean to analyze his expression.

There wasn't much left of the flirtatious playfulness that had been there during their morning drive, and Sam couldn't figure out if he felt disappointed or relieved about that.

On the one hand, it had been uncomfortable and a little confusing, but on the other hand, it had been nice to see a more carefree, relaxed version of Dean than he had gotten used to seeing in the months leading up to his Stanford departure.

He found himself wondering how much of earlier's bravado had been an act.

As if on cue, Dean sighed and reached over to rest his hand gently on Sam's shoulder.

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier, man," he said with that old, familiar echo of sadness behind his voice. "I guess I just…I don't know…seeing you again, it's-it's…it's just…it's nice to see you again. That's what I'm trying to say."

The tension in the air was palpable.

Sam knew that even though his brother felt obligated to say what he had said, he hated moments like this.

Resting a hand lightly on top of Dean's, Sam gave a little squeeze and smiled into the darkness.

"Yeah, I know," he said softly, suddenly wishing that they weren't as close to their destination, "but hey, no chick-flick moments, right?"

Dean chuckled, slipping his hand out from under Sam's and gripping the wheel again.

"I guess you learned something useful from me after all, too, huh?" he said, and Sam smiled again as they turned onto the road that would take them the last half mile to Sylvania Bridge.


End file.
